


Christmas Cards: 1999

by kuzibah



Series: Christmas Cards [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:48:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22617835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuzibah/pseuds/kuzibah
Summary: This is one of the first fanfic series I wrote, back in 1999 (I was 31, for context.) The internet was somewhat new, definitely new to me, and although fanfic had been around awhile, it was mostly distributed through xeroxed "zines" at conventions. This was really the infancy of fanfiction as a popular fan movement. This was a series written as a gift to the Buffy Cross and Stake message board (ir)regulars, and was originally posted there, one segment per day, during the week preceding Christmas, although not exactly in the order presented here. They are presented here in the order they were written, and each chapter is really a very short stand-alone story, although they are intended to be read as a set. To refresh your memory, this was the middle of the fourth season of "Buffy" and the first season of "Angel," and the stories take place in that timeframe.
Series: Christmas Cards [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627252
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Every Valley Shall Be Exalted: Angel

8:04 p.m., December 24th, 1999

Angel sat alone in the darkened office, utterly still and unblinking, as only a vampire can be. He had given Cordelia the day off, the whole weekend, in fact, and he now only listened to the silence, and thought. 

Brooded, most of those who knew him would call it, and he had to allow they were probably correct. But he had spent a long time living inside his own head, and he felt, if not safe there, at least on well-worn ground. 

He was surprised to realize he missed Doyle, missed him terribly. The young half-demon had known him and understood him better than anyone except Buffy. No, probably even better than Buffy, because his eyes had been unclouded by romantic dreams. Angel wondered, not for the first time, where he might be. Well, not exactly him, but his essence, his soul. Angel knew souls existed, know it better than anything in his life, but he knew precious little about them. In his long life his soul had spent more time outside his body than in it, but Angel was damned if he knew where it went. Giles had spoken of the ether, but that was terribly vague. And Angel knew there was a hell, knew all too well. But other than that…

His mother had said that when you died, you were received into the arms of God, and Angel had the strange image of Doyle, cradled like a baby, suckling on a bottle of 12-year-old Bushmill’s, but that seemed too simple, a reassuring tale told to children. And then there were The Powers That Be, which sent Doyle his visions. They had some power in the world. Did they control everything, Angel wondered?. Did they have a final resting place for mortal souls? Were they God? If they weren’t, did God exist? If God existed, why would He allow these “Powers” to have control over His creation, or even any part of it? 

For that matter, Angel thought bitterly, if there is a God, why would he allow me to exist? For His own sick amusement, no doubt. Black holes in deep space weren't a big enough contradiction of natural law to suit the Almighty's sense of irony, apparently.

And now there was the added confusion of the oracles, and the various prophecies from the demons he had come in contact with. If the future could be forecast, did that mean it couldn't be changed? Were they all just helpless participants in some cosmic puppet show? He had to admit, it sometimes felt that way.

He rose and put on his coat, exiting into the street. The sun had set many hours before, and the air was starting to get chill. Angel started walking, without a clear destination in mind. There was still a lot of activity on the street: people visiting and headed for church services, last-minute shoppers, Salvation Army bell ringers hoping to collect a few more coins. 

Angel found himself on a sidewalk, bathed in a mosaic of multi-colored light. Above him, a stained-glass window depicting the Good Shepherd shone like a beacon in the darkness. A sign on the wall said “St. Cyrinus Church.” Within, faintly, Angel could hear a single voice singing with uninhibited joy.

"Oh the holly she bears a berry, as white as the milk. And Mary she bore Jesus, all wrapped up in silk. And Mary she bore Jesus, our Savior for to be. And the first tree that's in the greenwood, it was the holly..."

There is a woman without a doubt in her mind, Angel thought. And he entered, hoping he might find an answer to his own doubts.

The church's sanctuary was brightly lit, and one nun, working alone, was distributing small candles in cardboard holders among the pews. She went on singing. Angel glanced around the church. Not ten feet from him was the font of holy water, and beyond that the sacristy, holding the elements of communion. All these things would cause horrible burns if they touched him, he knew. And at the end of every pew a brass cross gleamed against the dark wood.

Angel shrank back. He had forgotten.

Suddenly the nun's singing stopped, and Angel looked at her, startled. She was blushing as she realized he must have been there watching and listening.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, "I didn't mean to interrupt..."

The nun put down the basket of candles. "Not at all," she said. "I'm Sister Katharine. Can I help you? Are you here for the service? It doesn't start until eleven, but you're welcome to wait."

"No," Angel said, "I'm not sure why I'm here. I'm sorry to bother you..."

She approached him slowly. "Did you want to talk to Father Kendall," she asked.

Angel backed away as she came close, watching the large crucifix around her neck. "I shouldn't be here," he said.

She came right up to him and took his hands in hers. "Please," she said, "sit down. Let me talk to you."

Angel allowed her to lead him to a pew and sit down beside him. He was trembling, and realized she must think from his actions he was totally mad.

"Are you a Catholic," she asked.

"I... not anymore."

"Why have you come here?"

"I had a friend," Angel said. "He died. It was senseless. I have so many questions." He covered his face with his hands. "About God... I mean, knowing what I know..."

The nun touched his arm and Angel flinched away from her. She is a bride of Christ, he thought, she mustn't touch such a foul creature as myself.

"Won't you stay," she said. "Take the sacrament. Talk to the Father."

Angel had the sudden image in his mind of his spectacular death were he to accept the host, and he almost laughed. "I shouldn't be here," he repeated. "This is no place for me."

The nun took his hands again. "Nothing can separate you from God's love, my child," she said.

This time Angel did laugh. "I've made a mistake," he said, rising and pushing past her. The nun followed him to the door.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I've said something wrong. Won't you please stay."

"No," Angel said, "you've been very kind. My being here is wrong."

"I don't believe that," the nun said firmly, but Angel was out of the church, and away down the street, before she even reached the door.


	2. Hang a Shining Star: Cordelia

9:36 a.m., December 25th, 1999

"Do something sacrilegious this Christmas! Bondage Show, December 24th and 25th at Nouvelle Justine. Beginners welcome."

"This holiday season, worship at The Church of Sinatra. Appearing live with swing dancing till 3 at the Five Spot."

"Why should Christians have all the fun? Kosher Delights will be open all day December 25th."

Cordelia sighed and began to fold up the LA Weekly she'd grabbed on the way home Thursday, figuring her Christmas plans would consist of takeout Chinese and two rentals from Blockbuster, when a small, uncluttered ad caught her eye.

"Start a new Christmas tradition. Bring the family to The Hollywood Toreador Theatre for a classic Christmas double feature: 'Miracle on 34th Street' and 'The Bishops Wife.' All proceeds to go to the Society for Film Preservation."

Perfect, Cordelia thought. It would be crowded, and she wouldn't feel so alone. Plus she'd get the warm fuzzy feeling sentimental old movies always inspired. Or at least she hoped so. At worst, she would kill a good four hours. Maybe she could come home and go to bed early.

The previews had already started when she entered the theatre for the early showing, just past noon, and she groped down the aisle in darkness. She had expected a theatre so small to be full, but she found an empty seat easily, and slid into it.

The movies unspooled, and Cordelia tried to lose herself in them, their optimism. Tried to believe in the happy ending. But she couldn't shake her sadness. It was just self-pity, she told herself. There are millions of people who never went to Austria or Telluride for Christmas, and you didn't see them moping about it. Just because this was her first time staying in California didn't mean she couldn't have fun.

Her internal pep-talk had no effect, however, and when the movies ended, she felt just as bad as before. The house lights came up, and Cordelia glanced around the small auditorium. There were only four other people there, all sitting alone. Cordelia glanced at her watch. The next show time wasn't for 45 minutes. She looked around again. None of the others were leaving either.

She caught the eye of an older woman, who smiled and shrugged. "Do you think they'll mind if we sit through again," she asked Cordelia.

Cordelia shrugged back.

A young man a few rows ahead of her turned around. "Either of you ladies know a good restaurant that's open," he said. "I don't know where I'm going for dinner yet, but I know it's not to Chez Steve."

Cordelia turned to him, and he smiled wryly. "That would be my place," he said. "I'm Steve."

"I'm Cordelia," Cordelia answered.

"What a lovely name, dear," the older woman said. "I'm Marie, by the way."

The other two women in the theatre introduced themselves, too. Another older lady named Jean, and a girl about Cordelia's age named Ashley.

"I know a hotel with a nice restaurant," Jean told them. "It's where I was going for dinner myself. It isn't far."

Steve stood and made a flowery bow to the rest. "I would be honored if you ladies would all consent to join me in a Christmas meal. Dutch treat, of course," he added quickly.

The women all looked at each other.

"Well, I was going anyway," Jean said.

"I don't have plans," Marie said.

Cordelia and Ashley exchanged glances and Ashley shrugged. "Why not," Cordelia said.

They talked all through dinner. Steve, an actor, told outrageous stories about his adventures looking for work that had them all laughing, and Ashley, a production assistant, countered with her own tales of superstar egos gone wild. Marie passed around photos of her grandchildren, all back east.

As they finished up, the waiter brought the check. "I just want to tell you," he said to them, "I started out today feeling lousy because I had to work on Christmas. But seeing your family have such a good time has really made it worthwhile for me. You have a Merry Christmas."

"You, too. Merry Christmas," they all echoed.

Later, driving home, Cordelia thought, if this were a Hallmark movie of the week, we'd all have promised to see each other again. Steve and Ashley would have fallen in love. As it is, we didn't even tell each other our last names.

But looking out at the setting winter sun, it didn't really matter.

The phone was ringing as Cordelia entered her apartment, and she raced to answer it.

A woman’s voice, sounding very tinny and distant, said, “Collect call from Sybil Brand Women’s Prison. Will you accept the charges?”

“Yes, of course, absolutely,” Cordelia said.

“Is that you, darling,” said her mother’s voice. “I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier, but there’s been a line for the phone all day, I guess you can imagine.”

“Yes,” Cordelia said, her voice close to breaking, “how are you?”

“About as well as can be expected,” her mother replied. “How was your Christmas, sweetheart?”

“It was nice,” Cordelia said. “Surprisingly nice.”


	3. All Is Calm, All Is Bright: Oz

3:41 a.m., December 25, 1999

True Item:  
This year there will be a full moon occurring on the winter solstice, Dec. 22, commonly called the first day of winter.

Since a full moon on the winter solstice occurs in conjunction with a lunar perigee (point in the moon's orbit that is closest to Earth) the moon will appear about 14% larger than it does at apogee (the point in its elliptical orbit that is farthest from the Earth). And since the Earth is also several million miles closer to the sun at this time of the year than in the summer, sunlight striking the moon is about 7% stronger making it brighter.

Also, this will be the closest perigee of the Moon of the year since the moon's orbit is constantly deforming. If the weather is clear and there is a snow cover where you live, it is believed that even car headlights will be superfluous.

* * * * * * * * * * * 

Oz poked his campfire, sending a cascade of sparks up towards the dark sky, then sat back and ate deviled ham and peaches out of cans, staring into the shifting colors of the coals. He was halfway through his hike back to civilization after spending the past three nights roaming the mountains as a werewolf. He had wanted to abandon himself completely to the beast, hoping that by leaving his human self behind and racing headlong into the darkness, he might at last emerge from the other side.

His hoped-for epiphany had not come about, though the wolf felt closer to his conscious self than it ever had before, and his memories seemed less disjointed, less obscure. And he was glad he had decided to hike so deeply into the wilderness for this vision quest, since each morning he had awoken to find his hands and face smeared with gore.

Now he was on his way back, and he moved closer to the fire. He looked into the dying flames, and realized he hadn't built a fire on the way into the mountains. He hadn't given it any thought at the time, but maybe it had been a way to set aside him human trappings. And now he was putting them back on.

He poked the fire again, and his gaze followed the sparks upward until they faded against the stars. The sun would be coming up in a few hours, he thought, and it would be Christmas. This time last year, he and Willow had been watching in delighted wonder as snow fell from the sky over Sunnydale.

Willow, he thought, with a sudden, sharp pang, like a stab through his heart. He missed her suddenly and desperately, the wound from his separation from her re-opened and raw. He stretched out on his blanket, staring up at the brightly blazing stars, and the cool, distant moon.

His world had been turned around in the past two years, that he knew. He had gone from being a fairly average young man, to learning his world was even more dangerous than he had ever believed. His hometown was filled with supernatural killers. His friends were slayers and wizards, his own girlfriend a witch. And a bite from his own small cousin had transformed him, plunged him into depths he hadn't even known existed.

He tossed himself restlessly onto his side, looking into the dying fire again. What was he searching for, he wondered. Control? Integration of his separate selves? A way to kill off the wolf once and for all? How can I save myself, he thought angrily, I can't even get to sleep.

He sat up again, and stirred the coals, which were fading now, only small ribbons of dark red playing over them. Maybe I'm just nervous about leaving the fire burning while I sleep, he thought reasonably. I'll cover it with dirt, and then I'll be fine. But he sat still, his mind turning.

Just then a movement in the corner of his vision caught his eye. He turned his head slowly and saw two wolves, their pale fur gleaming in the moonlight, loping one behind the other at the edge of the meadow where he was camped. Suddenly the second, a young male, Oz guessed, stopped and turned towards the young man, sniffing the air. He took a tentative step in Oz's direction, sniffing curiously.

The first wolf, which had kept going, turned back and joined the second. She regarded Oz more dubiously, then pressed her muzzle into the male's throat. He turned to her, nuzzling her back, and with one last look over his shoulder at Oz, the two disappeared into the darkness between the trees.

When they had gone, Oz found that he was trembling. The whole encounter had taken only a moment, but Oz began to gasp for air as though he had held his breath for several minutes. How beautiful they were, he thought, how graceful. He was moved by their gentle affection for one another, and their acknowledgement of him, his nature, moved him in a way that truly surprised him.

Slowly, he lay back onto his blanket, and sleep closed over him, like a shroud.


	4. An Apple, A Pear, A Plum, A Cherry: Giles, Olivia, Xander, Anya, and Spike

12:52 p.m., December 25th, 1999

“Merry Christmas!” Olivia said cheerfully as she opened the door.

“Merry Christmas to you,” Xander answered, smiling warmly and handing Olivia a box of cookies.

“Yeah, whatever,” Anya grumbled, pushing past him into the house.

“Christmas not real big with ex-demons,” Xander said apologetically, following her in.

The table was stacked with sandwiches of at least a dozen varieties, three pitchers of different kinds of punch, and a huge bowl of salad. Anya regarded it skeptically.

“I thought you were supposed to have turkey, or ham, or something,” Anya said.

“This is a traditional Yorkshire Christmas meal,” Olivia said. She handed Xander a box of matches. “Would you be so kind as to light the candles for me,” she said.

Xander took the matches. “Sure,” he said.

Giles was sipping brandy in the living room, while Spike sat sullenly nearby.

“We’ll be eating in a few minutes,” Olivia announced.

“Wonderful,” Giles said, rising.

“Yeah, bloody marvelous,” Spike grumbled.

“At least you’re not tied to a chair, like Thanksgiving,” Anya pointed out.

“As one ex-bad guy to another,” Spike sniped at her, “would you mind not trying to cheer me up.”

Anya shot a disgusted look in Spike’s direction, which the vampire returned in kind. Reluctantly, the two joined the others at the table.

Olivia placed a large, beautifully painted tankard in front of Spike. “I heated some for you,” she said, “seeing how it’s Christmas and all.”

“It would be Christmas before I warmed up blood for a vampire,” Giles murmured.

“Please,” Olivia scolded, “we should be pleasant to our guests.”

Giles seemed about to retort when he realized Olivia was quite serious. “You’re right,” he said, chagrined, “I apologize.”

Spike didn’t answer, but sniffed at the tankard. It was warmed nicely.

“For the rest of you,” Olivia said, “we have ham, roast beef, turkey, cheese, cucumber, tuna, tomato, cream cheese, and… never mind, we have a little of everything.”

Anya and Xander both reached together, but Giles cleared his throat sternly and they returned their hands to their laps.

“Xander,” Olivia said, “would you please say the blessing.”

Anya rolled her eyes, and Xander’s head snapped up in surprise.

“Bloody hell,” Spike snarled, and he stood, scooped up his blood and marched away.

“I’m sorry about that, Olivia,” Giles said, “but you see, um, how can I put this… religious ritual is anathema to vampires.”

“Oh, I didn’t even think,” Olivia said, “I should go talk to him.” 

“Don’t bother,” Giles said.

“No, I want to,” Olivia pressed, “you go on ahead.” And she left them to follow Spike.

“She’s so soft-hearted,” Giles said wistfully, as he reached for a turkey and bacon sandwich.

“You’d have to be Mother Teresa to feel sorry for Spike,” Xander said, stuffing a ham and cheese club into his mouth.

“She could probably do better,” Anya added.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Olivia opened the door of the darkened bedroom. “Spike?”

“Go away,” Spike said sternly.

“I want to apologize,” she said.

“Sure,” Spike replied, “come on in. What am I gonna do about it?”

“I didn’t know about the blessing,” Olivia said. “I don’t even normally have one, it’s just it’s traditionally good luck to have the darkest-haired guest light the candles and say the blessing. And I’m sorry.”

There was a long moment of silence before Spike finally answered. “It’s not just that,” he said, and there was another long pause.

“You’ve been very kind,” Spike said at last, “probably because you don’t know me very well. But doing Christmas and playing human is probably the most appalling thing that’s happened to me in what could safely be described as the worst six weeks of my life with no end in sight. So if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to be left alone.”

“I didn’t realize,” Olivia said softly. “I’m sorry.” And she closed the door.

She rejoined the others at the table and nibbled the edge of a cucumber sandwich. “This is all very strange,” she said to no one in particular.

“But at least it’s never boring,” Xander answered.

“I’d actually be pleased with boring, for a change,” Giles said.

“Don’t feel bad,” Anya said, “everyone knows the whole Christmas season is just a time when expectations are so inflated it can never live up, and everyone just ends up depressed and resentful, anyway.”

There was a stunned silence as all stared at Anya, and she looked up unselfconsciously.

“So are we having mince tarts or not,” she said.


	5. May Your Days Be Merry and Bright: Buffy and Willow

10:08 p.m., December 24, 1999

Buffy and Willow walked along with the crowd heading towards the exit of the Staples Center. The slayer was clutching the program from "'It's a Wonderful Life' on Ice" to her chest and talking excitedly.

"Didn't you think Nicole Bobek really did a wonderful job as Violet," she said, "I mean, the skating is so difficult, and yet she's not the star, so it's, like, totally thankless. She just shined, but she didn't show off and take away from the story, you know. And that triple-toe-loop when George gave her the money to pursue her dreams..."

To say Willow was not as interested in ice skating as Buffy would be to make the understatement of the year, if not the decade. But Willow had to admit her friend's enthusiasm was infectious, and she had ended up enjoying herself.

"And I don't think I've ever seen Todd Eldredge skate a role more suited to him than George Bailey," Buffy went on, "he was able to convey all the complexities: the anger, the despair, the ultimate redemption. Didn't you think he was great?"

"Oh, yeah," Willow said, "he was really fantastic. And it didn't even matter when fell. He got right back up like a trooper."

"I'm sure that was a rut in the ice," Buffy said defensively. "They just had a hockey game last night, and it probably wasn't zamboni’d properly."

"I guess," Willow agreed.

Suddenly Buffy stopped and grabbed Willow's arm. "I don't believe it," she said, all the buoyancy drained from her voice. "Is nothing sacred?"

Willow followed Buffy's gaze and at last saw what she was looking at. Behind a souvenir stand, waiting for the crowd to thin, was a man in a long black coat. Beside him was a figure in a full, long cloak with a hood drawn low over its face. As Willow watched, this figure raised a pale blue, mottled hand and re-adjusted the hood. She saw a flash of its face, also mottled blue with scaly protuberances, like a reptile. Between it and the man were two small children in Eskimo style coats.

"Kidnapping children from the ice show," Willow said. "That's just so wrong."

"Get ready to run for help if there's trouble," Buffy said, handing Will her program. Then she hurried the long way around the stand to catch the villains by surprise.

The man and the demon still had their backs to her, surveying the crowd. Buffy grabbed the demon's shoulder and spun it around. "Where do you think you're taking those kids," she demanded.

"Wha..." the demon said confusedly.

"Hey," the man said angrily.

"Mommy!" the children cried in unison.

Buffy's fist froze halfway to the demon's face. She looked down at the two children. "Mommy?" she asked.

"Yes," the man said, still highly piqued. "She is my wife. We have the same right as you to bring our children to the ice show."

Buffy lowered her hands. "I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't realize..."

"Wait a minute," the man said, his tone suddenly changing, "aren't you the slayer?"

Buffy blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You are," the man insisted. "We live in Sunnydale, too. We moved so my wife could be closer to her work. I have to tell you, you're doing a great job."

"She's the slayer?" the children said, awestruck. "Wow... cool..."

Buffy started to back away. "Well, sorry for the misunderstanding..."

"Not at all," the demon said, "I'm glad to know the slayer would defend my children so quickly if there were a real threat."

Buffy shrugged nervously. "Well, you know..."

"Before you go," the man said, "do you mind if I just get a picture of you with the kids? Only take a second."

Before Buffy could answer, the man had pulled an instamatic out of his pocket and snapped a photo of Buffy and his family. "Thanks a lot," he said, taking Buffy's hand and shaking it. "Keep up the good work," he said. "Remember: all the decent, hardworking demons out there are pulling for you."

"Thanks," Buffy mumbled, then quickly made her way back to Willow.

"What was that all about?" Willow asked.

Buffy smiled, still slightly dazed. "I guess I have fans," she said.


End file.
